


just about starving tonight

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily Plays Rooftop Tag (DCU), Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25290397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: Jason's dying for some action.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 20
Kudos: 192





	just about starving tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to me!

Jason can feel the energy humming under his skin when he wakes up, earlier than usual after a long night's patrol. Working out doesn't calm it, and neither does a cool shower afterwards. He can't sit still enough to read or do casework. He forces himself to cook and eat, two things he normally enjoys in and of themselves, but when he's like this, all he wants is to get back out on the street and fight.

It's early spring in Gotham, twilight just starting to edge later into the day, but he can't wait for full dark. He'll put his fist through a wall if he does, and he'd actually regret that. He likes this apartment, has made it all cozy and homelike after years of living on the road or in barebones safe houses around the city. The Bats know where it is, but that's a trade-off he's willing to make now, mostly because they leave him alone.

He doesn't even take his bike; he heads to the rooftops instead, as if he were still Robin, still a bird ready to spread his wings and soar. He scatters corner boys and takes down bag men whenever he returns to the ground, and it's still not enough to calm him. The tension in his veins just ratchets higher.

He's on the roof of the Gotham City Property and Casualty building when in the distance he picks up a glimpse of another figure swinging through the night, lean and lithe, a sudden flash of electric blue that catches a streetlight in the darkness, the bright white of teeth bared in a fierce grin.

Dick does an unnecessary flip and then lands precisely next to Jason, and for a moment, Jason thinks he might fling his arms up and preen for an imaginary audience. Then he realizes the audience is real. The audience is him.

Dick nods in greeting. "Hood."

Jason nods back. "Wing." 

Jason hates this part. It's always so awkward. Ever since they started doing this thing they're doing ( _fucking_ , his brain helpfully supplies, always eager for that part), there have been alley walls or fire escape ladders to press up Dick up against while they furtively jerk each other off. Each time, he's afraid it's going to be the last, and he hates that uncertainty most of all. Tonight, up here, there's just the wind and the smog, and that ridiculously bright grin on Dick's face, and Jason doesn't know how to ask, doesn't let himself _want_ , not when they're out in the open for anyone to see.

Dick watches him for a long moment, and Jason wonders what he sees—none of them are as good as Cass at reading body language, but none of them are bad at it, and Dick is better than most. Even with his helmet on, Jason must be giving something off, because Dick laughs softly.

"All righty, then," he says, reaching out and tapping the inside of Jason's forearm. "Tag, you're it."

And then he dives off the roof.

Jason sucks in a surprised breath, rage flaring and locking him in place for a second as he watches Dick fall before he rises again, swinging between the skyscrapers of the financial district. Then, Jason follows.

He thinks of all the times Bruce scolded him, told him that what they do is not a game, but that only makes the rage burn hotter, and he doesn't want—a fight isn't what he wants from Dick, not anymore. And especially not tonight.

He lets the rush and jolt of grappling through the night sky burn off that anger for now, finds himself grinning fiercely when he lands behind an old peepshow theater, the only one left on the outskirts of Chinatown now that gentrification has started to claim even the older, poorer sides of Gotham.

Seems fitting, because he edges around a corner carefully to reach out and grab hold of a nomex-clad elbow.

"Gotcha." He's not even mad Dick let him win, because it means Dick wants what's going to happen as much as he does, and that's never not going to be a rush of its own, pooling hot in his belly and thickening his cock.

He gets a quick glimpse of Dick's grin before he's being shoved back against the brick building, Dick's hands working at the fly of his pants.

"What, no hello kiss?" Jason asks.

Dick snorts in amusement. "Take the damn helmet off first."

Shit. He's so worked up he forgot. "Right." 

Dick knows how to disable all the safety measures on Jason's armor (it's not a uniform, not the way Dick's Nightwing suit is), but given the explosives wired to the helmet, Jason prefers to take care of that one himself.

He drops it to the ground with a muffled thunk, and hauls Dick in for a kiss. Dick laughs into his mouth and it almost feels like flying again. 

He's not careful undoing the safety measures on the Nightwing suit—he knows them as well as his own, but he might not even feel the shock with how much adrenaline is buzzing in his veins at the moment.

"Careful," Dick murmurs. "Electrocution's not fun and sexy."

"Yeah, yeah," Jason replies, finally able to get his hand around Dick's cock. "I could make even that look good."

Dick laughs again and then gasps as Jason adds a little twist on the upstroke. He knows the rough material of his gloves adds extra friction, craves the same from Dick's striped gauntlets, the blue bright in the darkness as he pumps Jason's cock.

"Come on," Jason growls, grabbing a handful of Dick's ass and tugging him closer, so they can rut up against each other, the hot and sticky and slick with sweat and precome. Jason bites at Dick's lips, gasps into his mouth as Dick thrusts against him, the two of them moving together like a fine-tuned engine. 

"You first," Dick says, and this is one time Jason actually does what he's told, his orgasm rushing through him like wildfire, burning out that jittery feeling humming under his skin.

He forces himself to open his eyes so he can watch Dick come, his face going slack with pleasure, kiss-bitten lips whispering Jason's name, and he wonders what it would be like to see it happen without the mask on, in a place where they didn't have to hide from cameras and criminals, didn't have to clean up quickly and furtively go their separate ways.

He doesn't mean to say anything, doesn't want to give Dick anymore power over him than he already has, but his mouth has other ideas. "We should try this in a bed," he blurts as they clean themselves up, still blissed out on that dopamine high. 

"Next time," Dick says with an exaggerated wink that's easy to read despite his domino, and then he's gone.

"Yeah," Jason mumbles, warmed by the idea that there's going to be a next time, and unable to keep the grin off his face as he makes his way home.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from that other famous Bruce from Jersey.


End file.
